Sieben
by Klondike Aura
Summary: Submissions for Fakiru Week 2012
1. Rapunzel's Ablutions: Red

Rapunzel's Ablutions: Red

"_Once in his life, every man is entitled to fall in love with a gorgeous redhead!_" - Lucille Ball

* * *

"I don't see why you're getting me to do this," Fakir grumbles.

" 'Cause Pique and Lillie always pull too hard, that's why," Ahiru answers. "Now help me separate it all."

Ahiru's long, peachy red hair fell like a curtain on her back, loosed from its customary braid. The summery locks had been thoroughly washed clean and were finally dry. At her insistence, Fakir was helping her braid it again.

"Have you thought about cutting it?" he suggests.

"No!" she immediately cries out, hugging the hair she was brushing possessively. "It's my hair!"

Fakir blinks at her back, not expecting such protest.

"It still will be, moron, but it'll be easier to take care of and you won't have to drag me into helping you."

Ahiru begins brushing her hair again and says, "You're not a girl so you just don't get it."

"Other girls wear their hair short," Fakir tells her with as much patience as he can muster.

"That's how they wanna do it. This's how I wanna do it."

He lets out a frustrated sigh and finally begins the task of helping her care for her ridiculously long hair. But as soon as his fingers actually take hold, he starts slightly. He had never really touched a girl's hair before, much less the hair of the girl he was somehow growing so fond of. He didn't know hair could be so fine, so soft. He never knew Ahiru's hair had any color to it besides just red. But here in his hand, he could see the shade changing in the light, almost like a sunset.

All of this happened in the span of a moment, maybe a breath or two.

"Have you ever thought of something besides a braid?" he asks, covering up his unexpected thoughts. "I don't know how to braid."

"It's real easy," she says. "You just take the one on the right and put it over the middle. Then that's the new middle and you take the one on the left over that. Then _that's_ the new middle and you just keep on going like that."

"Suddenly it makes sense," he muses, successfully following her instructions. "You keep your hair in a braid because it's so simple even a duck knows how to do it."

Ahiru bolts forward at that with half a quack, undoing what little progress Fakir had made. Without thinking, he clutches her hair in his fingers.

"Owwww," she whines at the accidental tug.

"Stay still, moron, or I won't do this at all. Now hand over the brush."

She gives him the brush with a smack to his hand and he brushes out the tangled mess of his attempted braid.

"I still say you have too much hair," he murmurs, dropping the brush beside him with a clatter.

Ahiru opens her mouth to protest again only for the words to die on her lips. What comes out instead is a very soft gasp as Fakir's fingertips brush against her shoulders. He takes his time gathering up her hair, his hands lingering against her as he separates it and begins to braid once again. His fingertips lightly caress her neck as he works, moving lower so his touch trails down her spine.

By the time he's done, he can tell from the back of her ears that Ahiru is blushing as brilliantly red as her hair.

And Ahiru firmly decides that she will _never_ cut her hair for as long as she lives.

* * *

Author's Notes: I'm back! Or rather, I never left but haven't been posting anything. I was working on these as well as a long-term project for the holidays.

Well, someone's got to braid all of that hair. If only life really was like a story and I could just get an insta-braid like Ahiru's every time she transforms back into a girl. This came to me easiest of all the prompts and I'm glad Fakiru Week's here so I can post it.


	2. Echo's Solitude: Silence

Echo's Solitude: Silence

"_Oh, how often she longed, poor creature, to say sweet nothings and beg him softly to stay!_" Ovid's _Metamorphoses_

* * *

Ahiru had never known such a quiet night.

As a duck, the pond is always humming with some sort of life all day and night. But here in her house with Fakir, everything slept. It seemed even the outsides tonight were quiet in deference to the house's rest.

And the silence only made her insides twitch and squirm in mortal fear.

They were just stories. Stories from an anthology that _she_ had chosen because she wanted them to try something different. And she _did_ like it, even when things turned ghastly, because nothing could harm her there in the warm sun and the steady rhythm of Fakir's voice.

But every horrid detail of the scary tales came rushing back into her brain when dusk turned to inky darkness. As the stars sang in their sphere of night, the shadows they cast through her window were alive and gliding over her protective quilt. Great claws and arms were reaching for the glass, the branches of the trees swaying in the unheard wind. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she realized she was not alone, unaware that her intruder was yesterday's uniform jacket slung haphazardly on her chair. She bolted upright at an unfamiliar shape that wasn't actually there, clutching the quilt tight.

She couldn't stay here. Not alone at any rate. So Ahiru wrapped her quilt around her shoulders, a shield from the evils of the witching hour, and braved the walk over to Fakir's room.

Just crossing the threshold provided a welcome wave of relief. Just the sound and subtle movement of the deep breathing that came with Fakir's peaceful slumber provided comfort. He didn't exactly appreciate being roused from such a state, grumbling as Ahiru softly shook his shoulder. Or tried to; she might have been clutching a bit tighter than she knew. He rubbed sleep from one eye with the palm of his hand and blearily blinked up at her. Even in the dim starlight, her face was starkly pale against her red hair.

He should have known this would happen.

Unwilling to waste energy on protest and in no condition or mood to do anything inappropriate at this late hour, he marginally shifted to give her room. He felt her weight pin down his own quilt, opting to sleep on top of the covers rather than underneath. Though he felt her reach and grip his hand, keeping him partially awake.

Eventually he felt her hold go slightly slack and her breathing even out at last.

* * *

Author's Notes: There's nothing that makes your skin crawl quite like the deceptive, paranoid silence of a peaceful night after hearing a horror story. Your imagination goes into overdrive and everything is out to get you.


	3. Lohengrin's Slumber: Dreams

Lohengrin's Slumber: Dreams

"_My eyelids closed and I sank into a sweet sleep..._" - Elsa

* * *

"I love you."

It's the most beautiful sentence Fakir has ever heard Ahiru say to him. His heart swells in his chest and he gently cups her face in his hands. Emboldened by her confession, he murmurs back, "I love you, too," before touching his lips against hers.

But his eye flickers open during their chaste kiss and he spies a spark.

Then another.

And yet another.

And his actions become desperate, threading his fingers into her hair while his other hand travels down to clutch her tightly against him. He mashes his mouth against hers roughly, trying his best to hold on to what he knows will not stay.

It befuddles Ahiru, who only knows a warmth akin to reading the last page of a good story.

The final things she can feel are Fakir's lips pressed against her own, his hand against her cheek, and, though she doesn't know why, the damp heat of one (or even both) of them crying.

Fakir starts and blinks, suddenly alone (Hadn't he been alone?) and unsure of why his lips feel strange or why his cheeks are marked with tear trails. And since he can't remember, he reassures himself that it's nothing of consequence.

* * *

"I'm sorry, but I must go, my love."

Fakir's gut wrenches at the words as he says them, though it feels more like watching someone else speak to the crying maiden before him.

"But why? Must you return on the swan-drawn chariot, my knight?" she begs.

"I must," he answers grimly. "I swore to my liege that I would return."

He turns away from her.

"But know that I will always love you."

And he walks away, his mind and heart clawing against him with every step. He knows what happens next but Fakir is as helpless to change it as Lohengrin was. He may not know who this strange Elsa is, but he knows she is going to fall prostrate with grief and die as soon as he leaves.

Just as she did the night before.

The words change sometimes. And sometimes they're in the courtyard, sometimes the king's throne room, sometimes even in front of the very swan waiting to bring him back. Sometimes it's not even his departure but his arrival or some part of their courtship. But the young woman is always the same: red hair in an almost Rapunzel length braid, blue eyes that are meant to hold nothing but joy, a speckling of freckles across her nose, and the awkward charm of a duck swimming in a stream. She's so striking Fakir finds he can accurately describe her even in his waking hours.

And yet he knows he's never seen anyone who looks like her before.

The maiden begins to fill his pages. She's the willful daughter of a kind but sheltering king and desires to see life outside the castle. Or she's a cheerful peasant girl who shares what little food she has with a hungry knight. Or she's a fairy in the forest that shows lost travelers the way to safety.

Fakir's fairy tales become a sensation. His peers praise him with phrases like "instant classics" and "timeless treasures". And he's ensured that all his days will be spent in comfort.

But it's nightfall and the mysteries of his blue-eyed muse that he desires.

* * *

"Who are you?" Fakir asks his manuscripts, a hand propping his head over the desk. "Why are you in every story? Why do you wait for me every night?"

As usual, the papers and ink answer with silence.

"Who is she?"

He pushes himself up.

"Why don't I know?"

He turns his head, glancing behind at his bed and the uncomfortably familiar collection of bottles on his nightstand. He forgets the exact moment when he stopped feeling complete shame about his path of self-medication and the deceit used to obtain it. But enough of a twinge at the sight of his ill-gotten remedies for wakefulness remains to remind him that guilt still exists.

He can't go on one way or the other. His publicist was already suspicious about Fakir's excessive naps and strict sleep schedule. If he didn't keep his arranged book signings and public appearances, he risked everything drying up. And he had a big signing tomorrow. He couldn't afford to be late. No matter how he might yearn, he would have to drop to sleep naturally tonight.

The room suddenly stifling, he steps outside to get some fresh air and hopefully tire himself out.

The crisp autumn air clears away some of the fog in Fakir's mind, his feet working without the aid of thought. He twists and winds down a nonexistent path, eventually reaching a yard he swears he's seen before. A quick look confirms that he's behind the museum. He can't remember when he'd ever been here before but there are too many cues. Something happened here.

Without entirely knowing why, Fakir crouches low and examines a peculiar rock. He isn't sure why it's peculiar; it certainly doesn't look different from any of the others back here. He reaches out and his fingers brush the surface of the stone.

Fakir sucks in a breath as his body is imbued with the warmth that floods out into his stories and escapes him. A voice soothes and invites him to listen. He doesn't even attempt to resist, especially when he hears _her_. The soft, familiar call of his name that haunted him so often in his dreams beckoned him thither, almost fully blocking out the sensation of his feet taking root and his arms sprouting sturdy branches.

Together at last in eternal dreaming, he's finally reunited with her name.

"Ahiru..."

* * *

The newspapers are rife with the shocking headlines:

"Young Author Disappears"

"Investigations in Missing Author Case Yield No Results"

"Beloved Fairytale Author Missing, Presumed Dead"

The literary world comes to a standstill as a promising future is snuffed out.

* * *

"You know, they call that tree the Lovers Tree."

"Really? Why's that?"

"They say there were these two lovers who were separated the moment the woman confessed her love. She disappeared from this world and could only see her lover by visiting his dreams. One day, the man wanted to dream forever so he wouldn't have to leave her. He made a wish and he became a sleeping oak tree."

"And that's the tree?"

"Yep. Can you see his face in it?"

"Where?"

"There, in the spot where the two big branches go out. Those are his arms."

"Is that little curve there his smile?"

"Yeah. They say couples who see his smile will be together forever."

* * *

Author's Notes: Otherwise known as the part where I try to defend myself. I know this is a bittersweet one at best. I ran it by my sister first and her reaction was, "YOU HORRID BITCH! HOW COULD YOU?!" Never mind that she hasn't even seen the entire series yet. She's reached the level of diehard Fakir/Ahiru shipper. But the elements just came together. Princess Tutu's fate, the comparisons between Fakir and Lohengrin, the Oak Tree, it all fits together like a quilt.

And at least they're together in dreaming, right?


	4. Odette's Tongue: Gift

Odette's Tongue: Gift

"_You can talk to birds?_" -Red Riding Hood, _Into the Woods_

* * *

Fakir wakes to the sound of chirping. He covers his head with his comforter, hoping to muffle the noise and get a little more sleep before his alarm properly announces the time to get up.

But then the chirping is joined by insistent wingbeats against a window, followed by a sudden rush inside and the heavy whump of something falling over.

Did they leave a window open? Knowing Fakir's luck, Ahiru probably thought the weather was so nice last night that she forgot to put all the windows down. And from the sound of things, her bedroom window was the point of entry.

He grumbles and blindly tosses his legs over the side of his bed, forcing himself up to investigate. But as soon as he makes his way to the door and prepares to knock, he hears a voice.

"I was wondering when you guys were gonna find me."

Fakir blinks, still waking himself up, and leans closer to listen. Ahiru's awake? She's often so late he figured the moron must have been sleeping in. But that's clearly her talking to...

"There's so much to catch up on. How are you and the kids, Canary Mama? All grown and left the nest?"

There was no mistaking it. Ahiru was talking to the birds.

"Their own eggs?! You're gonna be a Canary Granny?!"

And from the sound of things, they were talking back to her. Though how she got the news of a canary's impending grandmotherhood from a few trills is beyond him. He considers knocking on the door again only to pause when she speaks to the canary.

"Oh, we haven't seen Mytho in ages," he hears her say with longing in her voice. "Not since your kids were babies. He and Rue went back to his kingdom in the story. I really miss them sometimes."

Fakir softly places his hand against the door, not wishing to hear more but unwilling to move away.

The canary tweets and Ahiru assures, "But Fakir is with me. He's kind of a grump sometimes but...but things are different when he's here. And I-"

Okay, he has to stop that line of thought or the blush threatening to rise to his face will be evidence enough of his eavesdropping. He firmly knocks on the door.

"QUA-!"

"What are you doing in there, moron?" he asks through the door, letting the words and her surprise calm him down.

She cracks open the door and peeks through at him.

"Can you give me a minute?"

But then a couple of birds hop out through the crack. He briefly follows them with his eyes before tugging the door open himself.

And even though he heard more than one bird, Fakir wasn't prepared for the huge mound of tweeting, feathered creatures piled up together to eat the plate of birdseed Ahiru brought them.

"Please don't be mad, Fakir," Ahiru says, wringing one of the sleeves of her nightgown. "They don't stay here long. I just feed'em in the morning and then they go on their way."

He's quiet for a time before asking, "How long has this been going on?"

Ahiru shrugs and says, "For as long as I can remember. It took a while before they found me here, though."

One of the braver ones alights on Fakir's shoulder.

"I think Canary Mama likes you," Ahiru says by way of introduction.

Canary Mama chirps towards Ahiru, who ends up turning red from whatever was said.

"I'm not even going to ask," Fakir says, turning to leave, the canary still resolutely perched on his shoulder.

* * *

Author's Notes: I chose a different route for the word gift than I thought I would at first. Instead of a present given from one person to another, I chose a talent or skill. Though I suppose the birdseed could be considered a gift to the birds.


	5. Juliet's Eyes: Light

Juliet's Eyes: Light

"_But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east and Juliet is the sun._" -Romeo

* * *

Fakir could only stare at what little the setting sun illuminated on Ahiru. The only gleam he could find was her blue eyes.

Every other part of her was completely _caked_ in mud.

"You're not coming in like that."

"But this mud is cold and I'm only getting colder," she protests. "Can't I come inside and clean up after? You know I'm used to cleaning anyway!"

"No, moron," he answers. "You don't need to cause any messes inside."

"But I promise I'll clean them up as soon as I can!"

Fakir heaves a long-suffering sigh and leads her around to the back of the house.

"Sit down."

"What?"

"Sit down," he repeats, his command firm.

Ahiru reluctantly sits down, wondering what would happen next. She didn't have to wonder long as she was suddenly drenched in cold water. She shrieks and jumps right up into the bucket Fakir emptied on her.

"What was that for?!"

"To clean you up, idiot."

"You didn't have to use cold water!"

"For someone who used to spend all your time in cold water, you don't handle it very well. You can use all the hot water you want once you're inside."

Fakir takes the bucket off and turns to fetch more water. Ahiru sits and steams, scraping some of the mud off of her arms and planning her retaliation. Once he returns, she enacts the first part of her plan by knocking the bucket out of his hands. It tilts and empties on him.

"Dammit!" he swears.

"Serves you right for dumping cold water on me," she says before tossing some mud at him.

Fakir reaches to grab her hands in order to stop the onslaught but, just as he saw the sparkle of mirth in her eyes, Ahiru uses the closeness to tackle him down to the ground.

"There. Now you can't go inside, either."

"Get off of m-" he tries to say but the last word catches in his throat when she smears mud on his shirt, inadvertently rubbing his chest. Somehow the earthy aroma of the mud made her own flowery scent more enticing. That plus the contact made it a touch more difficult to think straight.

Ahiru smiles brightly even as Fakir tries to sit up and shove her off. She just presses against him, making him dirtier and trying to take advantage of his body heat.

"You're cold," he complains. "And you're getting me muddy. How did you even get this muddy?"

"Well, I was walking home with Pique and Lillie and Lillie was saying it's so sad that I'm never gonna get any better at dancing. So she gave me a big hug but that ended up shoving me down in the mud by the pond. And then she said I was clumsy and I should hurry home before it gets dark or I might get lost and no one could find me since I was so muddy."

"You listen to Lillie too much. Now get off."

"Fine."

Ahiru finally climbs off and Fakir stands up again. He goes to the house to get another bucket of water only for her to tackle him in the back, throwing her arms around his waist as he drops to one knee. He makes what he hopes is an inaudible gasp at her hands firmly pressed on his stomach and her small chest against his back.

"Stop it," he half-grumbles, trying to pull her hands away without actually wanting to.

Ahiru's hold is resolutely tight, however.

"Are you gonna let me in yet?"

He manages to yank her hands away and the action causes her to slip. He lets one hand go but keeps his grip on her hands firm with the other, causing her to slide around the wet ground to his side and land hard on her bottom.

"You okay?" Fakir asks when she winces, instinctively reaching with his free hand to take hold of hers once again.

Ahiru nods.

And for some reason, neither of them are compelled to move immediately. Ahiru opens her eyes and gives Fakir a sheepish smile, silently apologizing for her clumsiness. He finds himself giving her a slight smile back. But then they realize their hands are still clasped together and the pair look to them, unsure of what to do next.

Ahiru chuckles nervously and goes, "I bet we look silly."

"I know we do," Fakir replies, finally moving out of his half-kneeling position to stand again, bringing Ahiru up with him.

He gently tugs her, but the duck-turned-girl promptly pops straight up from the action. Ahiru lets out a small noise of surprise at the sudden closeness, her hands unconsciously squeezing his. Fakir sighs in a way that's almost a short laugh. But then her eyes meet his and all he can do is keep still for a moment. And then, slowly, he finds himself leaning his head in just a little closer to hers, their foreheads meeting. When she curiously tilts her head up in kind, he closes the rest of the distance and softly brushes his lips against hers. And when he does, Fakir could swear her eyes hold shooting stars before they flutter close and Ahiru gently returns the kiss.

It's a surprisingly peaceful moment. At least until both of them get soaked again. They part sputtering, Fakir finally dropping Ahiru's hands.

"Okay, break it up, Romeo and Juliet," Charon says, holding the upturned bucket this time. "You're not coming in like that."

* * *

Author's Notes: I had to fight myself to put this under light. I kept wanting to switch this over to play. But I decided that I should be honest. This was what I first came up with when I began writing for this prompt. I couldn't let go of the idea of light and Ahiru's eyes. That's also how I thought of the title for this entry.


	6. Cinderella's Reluctance: Play

Cinderella's Reluctance: Play

"_Wanting a ball's not wanting a prince..._" -Cinderella, _Into the Woods_

* * *

Of all the situations they've been in, this one certainly wasn't the most awkward. But it was rapidly climbing into the top ten.

It figures Ahiru would get so excited about a performance of Cinderella that she would audition no matter what. It was only after she actually made the cut that she learned it was a theater division project that happened to have open casting.

"How did you audition without finding out what was going on until later, moron?" Fakir asks a slumping Ahiru as they walk home.

"Well, there was some dancing," she weakly defends. "And there were some other ballet students, too."

"How long is this going to take? You need to get back to practice."

Ahiru makes a face that implies longer than she'd like before answering, "It's like a thing for kids, so it's not gonna take too many rehearsals. It's a kinda make it up as you go thing."

Fakir blinks at that and says, "This isn't what I'd expect from you actually getting a part in something, even if it's not a ballet. Are you a stepsister or something?"

"I'm Cinderella."

"Then what are you slumping about?"

Her lips twist and she straightens up some.

"They picked Femio to play Prince Charming."

Fakir raises an eyebrow at that. He heard the abbreviated version of the events at school while he was suspended but had yet to actually encounter Femio. Could he really be that bad?

He would soon learn that yes. Yes he is.

* * *

"Darling Ahiruuuuu!" Femio calls from outside her house in the dark of pre-morning, holding a rose aloft. "Hurry up, _mon chere_, and make yourself ready or we'll be late for rehearsals!"

Fakir opens the window to his bedroom so hard that the panes rattle and growls, "It's four in the morning. Shut up and get off my-" And then his eyes catch up to him and he asks, incredulous, "Did you ride a bull here?"

The huge bovine snorts towards Fakir.

"Oh, are you her guardian? Rest assured I will take the utmost care of precious Ahiru. I am, after all, a prince."

"Shut the hell up and get out of here."

Femio throws his hand to his forehead in clear and dramatic woe as he declares, "My Cinderella is trapped away from my love! Oh the tragedy! She has become the Juliet to my Romeo!"

"Oh god," Fakir grumbles, suddenly understanding Ahiru's reluctance. Rehearsals haven't even started and this production's already running too long for his liking.

* * *

Fakir glares at the back of Femio's head as the self-proclaimed prince and Ahiru walk towards the theater division. The other danseur's arm was firmly around Ahiru's shoulders in a closeness that the duck-turned-girl was too shy to break away from.

How dare he. Couldn't he see the discomfort he was causing Ahiru? Apparently not as his constant chatter was reassurance that he would be there for his sweet Cinderella. But for once, Fakir was grateful for Femio's ceaseless rambling and Ahiru's inability to restrain her reactions.

"How enchanting and strange," he tells her, suddenly grasping Ahiru's hands.

She nervously laughs, "Yeah, it's strange. Didn't think there'd be other ballet students trying out for a play."

"I mean for the brilliance of our love to be displayed on stage for all to see. Your delicate blush... Our tender kiss..."

Ahiru makes a strangled sound before repeating, "K-k-k-k-k-kiss?!"

Fakir grimaces in disgust.

"Of course Prince Charming will be expected to kiss his Cinderella." Femio pulls Ahiru closer to himself before whispering in her ear, "How much practice should we get in for that part?"

"P-p-p-p-p-practice kissing?!"

"Oh, you're right, _mon petit bon bon_," Femio cries out, suddenly pulling back. "If I shower you with too much affection, others will be jealous! Ah, if only I didn't carry such a burden! I can only beg the heavens' forgiveness for my grievous sin!"

"Oh no..."

"_Ole_!"

Ahiru didn't hesitate to scurry to higher ground as Femio's bull stampeded forth.

It was all Fakir could stand to see. He's going to have to call in a favor.

* * *

Ahiru wrings her hands in the skirt of her servant dress backstage, listening to the kids talking in the audience.

"This is boring."

"This is dumb."

"At least we're not in class."

"Yeah, that's even worse..."

"Don't worry, moron."

The last voice was right by her, causing Ahiru to start.

"Fakir?! Why are you back here? You're not in the play!" she gets out. But another look and she notices he's in costume and carrying a messenger's bag.

"It's an improvisation, right?" he says with an easy shrug. "They needed an attendant for the Prince. I volunteered."

"Volunteered?! But you haven't been to any rehearsals or anything!" she protests.

"How hard could it be?"

They didn't have more time to talk about it, as they were instructed to take their places to start the play.

Things went surprisingly smoothly during most of the play. Ahiru was enjoying herself, even when she had to dance with Femio. But then came the climax; Ahiru can hear Femio from her spot in the wings of the stage.

"Do you have any other daughters in your household?"

The girl playing the stepmother stutters out, "N-n-n-no..." as Femio leans quite close to her, hoping the nerves she conveys can be expressed as the stepmother not wanting to lie to the Prince but out of other options. Ahiru takes it as her cue to show up behind the false balcony bars. Femio spots her almost immediately.

"My dear!" he calls, reaching a hand out to her. "Please come down and try on the slipper."

She waddles out from behind the prop and makes her way on the stage. Femio eases her down in the chair and makes way for Fakir to put the slipper on her. Ahiru is surprised by how soft the touch of his hand is around her ankle, removing the simple cloth work shoe and placing the glass slipper over her toes.

Only...

"It doesn't fit," Fakir says bluntly.

There's a collective "Ehhhhhh?" from everyone but Fakir in the theater followed by a brief silence.

"Fakir, what are you doing?!" Ahiru hisses in his ear.

"Quiet, moron," he murmurs back. "I'm trying to help you."

"_By embarrassing me to death_?!" she hisses again.

"A-a-are you sure it doesn't fit?" Femio asks.

Fakir holds up the duck-turned-girl's foot, displaying a glass slipper just the right size. For someone with feet half the size of Ahiru's.

"If you think it's strange that it doesn't fit, then did you know she was the one you were looking for the entire time?" Fakir asks. "That seems a little insensitive."

The crowd murmurs in curiosity at this turn of events.

"O-of course I didn't," Femio insists. "But we have seen all the other ladies in the kingdom. Surely she must be the one?"

"And do you even know her?" Fakir presses on, letting go of Ahiru's foot and standing to face Femio. "What about her wishes and her desires?"

Femio is left staring, mouth agape at this twist, as Fakir turns back to Ahiru and pulls his bag forward.

"But I do have your slippers, Cinderella. The right ones."

Ahiru covers her mouth while Fakir opens the bag and pulls out a pair of toe shoes. He kneels down and carefully but quickly ties them to her feet. He stands again and offers her a hand up, which she tentatively takes. She briefly warms her ankles up, rolling one foot to the toe and then the other before standing en pointe for a very short moment.

"A perfect fit," Fakir comments.

"Ah!" Femio gasps, now determined to get the play back on track. Sort of. "Dearest Cinderella has put herself through the pain of studying pointe work just so she may dance with me! Truly I have gravely sinned for this to occur! There is no way I can properly atone!"

"We should probably go, shouldn't we?" Fakir whispers to Ahiru, already hearing the thunder of the stampede.

Ahiru nods before the screaming crowd parts, the bulls charging towards the stage as actors jump out of the way. Fakir wastes no time in scooping Ahiru up in his arms and dashing backstage and out, leaving Femio to his bulls.

* * *

"So how did you get into the play anyway?" Ahiru asks once they were safely away.

At her insistence, they were hiding out from the theater crowd and getting a bite to eat while sitting at one of the outdoor tables at Ebine's restaurant. Ebine had been suitably charmed by both a strange sense of deja vu upon seeing Ahiru and their intriguing take on Cinderella, to the point that the owner offered each of them a small hot fudge sundae on the house. The leading lady was glad to accept but the prince's attendant politely declined.

"Remember when the drama club asked you to get me to be in their play?" Fakir begins.

"Well yeah, but I didn't think they'd remember that now that that story's over," the duck girl says around her spoon before digging out another bite of ice cream from her cup. "And anyway, I don't remember you actually doing it."

"We were busy at the time. And they remembered enough of it. When I filled in the other details, they accepted it, along with the idea that they owed me a favor, without question."

Ahiru pouts over her sundae and protests, "That's not really fair. It's kinda like lying to them, even if it did happen for us."

Fakir raises an eyebrow and retorts, "I got you out of kissing Femio, didn't I?"

"Yeah..." she mutters, scraping the last of the hot fudge sauce into her spoon. "Thanks for that."

"Anytime, Cinderella."

Ahiru quacks around her spoon as she finishes her sundae.

* * *

Author's Notes: Holy crap did this one turn out long. It was the last one I wrote but the one where the inspiration kept flowing. I guess it was just too much fun to make Femio the Prince he always claimed to be and giving Fakir an excuse to completely troll a play.


	7. Baucis and Philemon: Forever

Baucis and Philemon's Linden and Oak: Forever

"_Let me die the moment my love dies. Let me not outlive my own capacity to love. Let me die still loving, and so, never die._" -Baucis and Philemon's prayer_  
_

* * *

"Why'd y'stop?"

Ahiru had to admit, she didn't think going to Fakir's room during a late night thunderstorm would lead to the warm entanglement they were enjoying in his bed. She was just scared and wanted some company.

Fakir initially refused to allow her in but his argument was interrupted by a loud crack of thunder. At that, Ahiru had jumped onto him, knocking the unprepared young man over and leaving them both a mess of limbs on the floor. Trying to remove her just prompted her to cling tighter. Fakir managed to stand himself up while still holding the trembling Ahiru, but this didn't last long as another thunder crash caused her to jerk out of his careful balance and they tumbled onto his bed.

He pulled back from her, his arms out on the bed to prop himself up and his eyes burning into hers.

"Moron," Fakir grumbled, apparently annoyed. "Now I won't be able to leave you alone."

"Wha-? Won't leave me a-?" Ahiru asked in confusion, which only grew as she felt his lips press against hers.

He sighed against her mouth and called her moron again for good measure after the kiss.

"S-stop kissing me if you're just gonna call me a moron!" she protested, flustered.

A long rumble of thunder seemed to roll over the house, reminding Ahiru why she sought Fakir's company. But all it pulled out of her was a fearful gasp and a short glance towards the window. He only took the opportunity to kiss the corner of her mouth, bringing her attention back to him. Ahiru tilted her head forward, still unsure and seeking comfort. Fakir was only too happy to provide with another kiss, quickly followed by another and another, each one lasting a little longer and becoming less restrained. And with each one, Ahiru responded more and more to Fakir's touch, her fingers tangling in his hair and keeping him close. She became more aware of their indecent position, him on top of her in his bed and her legs wrapped tight around his waist. And the more they moved together like this, the less she found herself caring either about decency or the storm that drove her here in the first place.

In one fluid motion, Fakir grabbed his sheets and pulled them over the pair, marking the finality that Ahiru was staying. He leaned down and kissed her cheek before nibbling at her ear, pulling a gasp from her. She let instinct take over and nuzzled her head against his, softly cooing his name. An appreciative sigh fell from her mouth as his hands smoothed over her back. She leaned, arched on the bed and bared to his attentions as his hands bunched up her nightgown and made direct contact along her spine.

But as he kissed down her jaw, he hesitated just at her neck.

Without even thinking, Ahiru asks, "Why'd y'stop?"

Fakir's eyes seem different now. The burning intensity is gone. In fact, he's barely willing to look at Ahiru directly. His fingers softly brush against her neck, earning him a soft intake of breath from the young woman beneath him.

"I could have-" he begins, voice halting with guilt. "I wanted to- I was going to hurt you."

It takes her some thinking in the middle of their arrangement but Ahiru recalls exactly what he's talking about.

"But you didn't," she gently insists.

"I nearly did. I was so close. And if I had-"

This time Fakir stops as Ahiru brushes a stray lock of hair out of his eyes.

"Fakir, that moment was...it was just that. A moment. It's not forever."

He takes his hand away from her neck, uncertain. But her hand cups his jaw, thumb stroking over his cheekbone and giving him a pinch.

"Back then I thought you were just a jerk. And you kinda still are a jerk. Only now I know you're nice, too, so it's not really the same thing! But nothing... Nothing from then means anything now unless you want it to. And I know you don't mean that anymore so it doesn't even matter-"

Ahiru's rambling is cut short by Fakir suddenly leaning closer and giving her a light brush of a kiss.

"Moron," he calls her once more. "You're not the least bit eloquent."

She huffs, puffing her cheeks out, and says, "Well sorry I'm not elo-whatever."

The corner of his lip quirks up and he continues, "And you give people too many chances." But then he carefully kisses her neck and whispers, "Sorry I wasted so many."

Ahiru giggles from his attention and the apology before confessing, "Believe me, you didn't get _that_ many."

* * *

"Huh?" Ahiru sleepily whispers sometime later. "I think the rain's stopped."

"Hmm?" Fakir hums, rubbing his thumb against her upper arm and pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

"It stopped raining, Fakir."

"Did it?"

She nods, a bit reluctant at the thought of no longer having a reason to be there.

"Well..." he murmurs to her skin, sending a shiver through her. "Who knows how long that'll last?"

"Y'think it'll start again?"

"Mm. It could. This might just be the calm in the middle."

Her fingers toy in his hair as she says, "I hope it starts again."

He snickers against her before suggesting, "Why don't we just pretend it did?"

And as far as the two were concerned, it stormed relentlessly all night.

* * *

Author's Notes: Forever is a beautiful concept but it can also be a frightening one. Sometimes we're glad or relieved when a moment is passed and sometimes we need reminders that we're not necessarily the people we used to be.

Out of all of the stories in_ Metamorphoses_, the story of Baucis and Philemon is always one of my favorites. In it, Zeus and Hermes visit the world in the guise of travelers seeking hospitality. They find no rest until they happen upon the title couple's home, where they are welcomed and fed. They realize they're in the presence of gods when Baucis refills their wine and notices the pitcher hasn't emptied. The gods grant them a boon for their hospitality and the couple asks that they die at the same hour so that one never has to live without the other. When the time came, they were turned into trees, a linden entwined around an oak.


End file.
